


Bond

by HalfwayThrough



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Malfoy, Dreams, During the War, F/M, Healer Hermione, Slow Burn, War and dreams is really all you need to know i promise, Werewolf-ish, smutty dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayThrough/pseuds/HalfwayThrough
Summary: Years into the war, Hermione is trapped for an entire night between a broken wand and a Death Eater. The consequences of which will affect everything.





	1. Broken Wand, Broken Core

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first Harry Potter fic and I am very excited to put it up. After reading so much wonderful Dracomione I felt like I had to make one myself.  
> I marked this fic as Mature because I hope for it to turn that way in upcoming chapters. I will update tags as I go as well as archival warnings and rating as needed.  
> I tagged this slow burn because that is what I am planning to do, so I'm fighting my own impatience on that. Hopefully I win.  
> (Also don't tell anyone that I neglected my Reylo fics to read a bunch of Draco/Hermione fics and then eventually write one. I'm gearing up for Reylo monster and got... sidetracked)
> 
> I want to write something you all would enjoy reading so tell me what you think in the comments.  
> Enjoy^^

Her lungs burned, her muscles aching with every footstep pounding on cobblestones. Eyes strained to see through the darkness, her throat coated with the thick air of the sewer. Puddles betrayed her path at every turn, her trainers splashing against the surface alerting the men behind her to exactly where she was. She had only gotten a brief glance at them, not long enough to count them. She had recognized at least three figures before she turned, before she started running. How long had she been running now? It could have been minutes, or it could be hours. 

In the dim light filtering through grates above her head, Hermione saw a small opening to another wing of the sewer. She swiftly flicked her wand, sending her splashing, frantic footsteps forward and slipped into the alcove ignoring the burning in her fingers from her wand sparking. Her back pressed against the damp stones, her heart beating in her head like a drum. 

“Come on Mudblood!” a Death Eater shouted, a scratchy older man’s voice. “Stop running! We’re only going to torture you!” 

A roar of laughter filled the sewer and she saw their cloaked figures walk past her alcove. As they passed beneath the grate, she caught a glimpse at their decorative masks, and their wands raised and ready to fire. Her phantom footsteps were still leading them down the sewer and they followed. She tried to count them as they passed, but stopped once she reached eight. 

Seemed like a bit of overkill for a single mudblood. 

She slumped against the wall when the last figure passed, letting out the air she had been holding in a long exhale. She was exhausted, filthy, and shaking. Her wand had been hit with a hex in her mad dash through the sewers exposing part of the dragon heartstring that was pulled taunt inside its core. She cursed herself for being careless. She wished the hex had caught a body part instead- she could live without an arm, she could never get out of this place without her wand. 

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to channel her magic through her wand anyway. She thought of the Order safe house and attempted to apparate there only for her wand to give a small spark and fizzle out. 

Bollocks. 

She tried again, and earned a slightly larger spark. She opened her eyes, ready to try something else. Apparation was, evidently, too heavy of a spell for her wand at the moment. She turned and saw a silhouette standing beneath the grate. Evening light caught his shoulders, clothed in black robes. The metal of his mask shined in the light, accentuating all the intricate curves and details carved into the iron skull. 

And he was looking right at her. 

Hermione’s heart vaulted into her throat. She twisted her wand hand again, begging the piece of wood to work. It sparked and fizzled, searing her fingertips. The Death Eater glanced at her wand, and could guess what she was trying to do. He leaped forward. Hermione cast again, desperately putting every ounce of energy into the spell. The familiar pulling sensation yanked at her navel, and she twisted and vanished from the sewer with a crack just as a black gloved hand caught her wrist. 

They stood for a moment, looking at one another inside the living quarters of the Order safehouse. Trunks of supplies lined the walls, and an injured wizard slept on a cot in the corner. Hermione had no time to think of a solution before she was being yanked through space once again. The world twisted around her until it settled into the shape of an enormous fireplace. Black marble stretched out in every direction, the fire in front of her a mere pile of glowing embers. The Death Eaters gloved hand still held her wrist. 

Hermione flicked her wand yanking the pair through England again, appearing with a crack at the edge of the Forest of Dean. She collapsed to her knees retching what little was in her stomach onto the dry, brittle grass beneath her. The Death Eater gripped a tree, his black robes swaying as he regained his balance. Weak and struck with a serious case of vertigo, Hermione flicked her wand in an attempt to apparate once and for all out of harm’s way. Her wand spit out a cloud of black smoke with a final weak crack. 

The sun leaned onto the tree line, as tired of the day as the witch below it was. There wasn’t much time before it’d be completely dark. Hermione swallowed hard, shoved her useless wand in her back pocket. She glanced at the Death Eater still holding onto a branch for support. The girl took a deep breath and shoved herself to her feet, starting at a sprint into the tree line. 

“Wait!” the Death Eater called, his voice muffled by his mask. She, however, did not wait. She continued bounding through the forest, vaulting her tired body through the underbrush. Thin branches reached out, slicing her cheeks and slapping at her arms. She could hear the masked man following her. A spell shot past her, slamming into a tree trunk and exploding into sparks. 

The sun gave out on her, passing their shift on to the stars. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and unknown creatures skittered through fallen leaves. Hermione cut through it all, racing through the dark. Her beat faster than a hummingbird's wings, blood rushing in her ears deafening the world around her. 

This was not how today was supposed to go down. It was supposed to be a simple retrieval. Get some wounded witches and wizard back to a safe house, maybe throw a few spells out as a defense. She was supposed to be back with Ron and Harry by lunch. 

Her foot caught on a root, sending her sprawling face first into damp earth and leaves. The impact with the forest floor shoved all the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping in the dirt. She lay there, feeling the effects of running half the day, of having fear rule her body for hours and hours. Hermione wanted nothing but to lie down and rest her eyes. However, that was not a luxury she could afford. 

She lifted her head, spitting dirt out of her mouth. Leaves rustled beside her head, and her heart dropped. He had caught up to her. Hermione, against every instinct, sat up in the mud and began to raise her hands to show she was unarmed. That she gave up. 

Only, it wasn't the Death Eater staring down at her. A massive body loomed over her, framed by the bright light of the full moon. 

Hermione stared, open mouthed, at the mountain of fur and teeth standing before her. It huffed hot air into her face, leaning forward to sniff her hair. She was frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Her wand was out of commission and she had nothing else to defend herself with. 

Suddenly the beast cried out in pain, a sparkle of red glitter bursting in the air and illuminating the forest. The monster’s whimper ripped into a howl. An arm was around Hermione’s waist, lifting her out of the dirt and dragging her through the trees. 

“Come on, Granger!” the Death Eater snapped. That voice, she knew that voice. Her fingers curled into his black robes as she regained her footing and stumbled along with him down a hill. The beast was at their heels, it’s panting echoing off the trees. 

A small hut among the tree trunks. Moonlight danced over its roof, almost pointing them in its direction. 

“There!” Hermione pointed, her voice rough from under use. They stumbled towards it, nearly falling down the steep decline. As they neared the door, the hand around her waist moved to her back, shoving her towards the shack. Hermione ran until she hit open doorway. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into cool water. A shiver flickered down her spine as the sensation bled over her skin. She turned in time to see the Death Eater cast a green light at the beast. The rippling mass of fur dodged the attack and swiped a clawed hand at him, knocking against him so hard that his body flew backwards, right through the doorway. Hermione jumped back as black robes and blonde hair crashed into the floor. 

A howl reverberated through the building and the creature leaped forward only for the door to slam closed by itself. 

Hermione felt the sensation of wards locking into place- a faint sizzling in the air. Someone had warded this hut specifically for hiding from the werewolf outside. She had a creeping suspicion that it was the man inside the beast waiting outside to eat them. 

A groan captured her attention. Hermione cautiously took a step towards the man lying on the floor boards. His mask had been knocked off, his pale face marred with a thick red slash across the lower right half of his jaw. She froze, watching him take in the damage and prop up on his elbows. 

Draco Malfoy. 

She hadn’t seen him in years. The war had been dragging on and they had been, reluctantly, dragged into adulthood with it. He looked so different, yet there was no mistaking those grey eyes and white blonde hair. The softness of his face from school had worn away, leaving only the chiseled features of a man- nearly gaunt. He caught her gaze, silver eyes pinning her in place. 

“What?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he caught her staring at him in potions class. 

“You… you look different,” she stuttered out. Hermione looked different as well. Her hair was the same unruly mass of curls, but her body had filled out into that of a woman and then quickly nicked down with stress and malnutrition. They both took in the other. Just a few moments earlier she had been running from him and now she was considering him. 

“This place is warded,” he said, echoing the knowledge Hermione had already gathered. He pulled himself to his feet, and she was shocked by just how tall he had grown. She hadn’t had time to take in his full height while running and was now staring up at him. He was a couple inches over six feet, and draped in black robes he was quite a sight. However, she could see the outline of his lean frame beneath the bulky robes, betraying his own hardships in the war. He started palming his pockets, tearing off his robe in search of something. “Where’s my wand!?” 

He looked up her, his silver eyes burning with accusation. 

“I- I-,” she held her hands up, brown eyes flickering to the window set in the wall by the door. Malfoy stepped up to it and Hermione stood on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. A small stick, just barely lit by the moon, sat in the leaves outside. The wolfish creature paced over it, as if daring Malfoy to come out and face him for it. 

“Shit,” he declared, whirling around on Hermione. “Where’s your wand? Why haven’t you pulled it on me yet?” 

Hermione quickly whipped her wand out, pressing the end of it into his throat, so he couldn’t peer down and see the giant hole in the side of it. A bluff, but hopefully it paid off. 

“It’s right here, Malfoy,” she hissed, standing exceptionally close to hide her wand’s secret. “You see, good witches and wizards are usually taught not to strike someone while they’re down. You must have skipped that lesson.” 

“How generous of you,” he said, his voice flat. He didn’t move. He stood, her wand pressing into his throat, with his hands at his sides. Hermione’s brown eyes flickered over the expanse of his shoulders. He was bigger than her, and with her wand in such a state he could overpower her if he wanted to. She had a few wandless spells she might be able to cast, but she was exhausted beyond comprehension and she wasn’t sure she could cast them even if she had a wand in working order. Not to mention most of them were healing spells of some kind, not exactly suited to keep a Death Eater prisoner. Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. “Well, what are you going to do with me?” 

Hermione paused. What was she going to do with him? 

“You’re not going to drag me back to Potter? Get me to spill all my Death Eater secrets?” he said, a smirk playing on his pale lips. 

“I doubt you know much of anything, Malfoy,” Hermione growled, pressing her wand further into the flesh of his throat. 

“Are you sure about that?” he dared her. She hadn’t realized it, but her fingers were shaking. “Granger, lower your pitiful excuse for a wand. I’m tired and I’d like to sit down.” 

She hesitated before finally lowering her wand. Malfoy quickly reached up, grabbing the tip and turning it over to inspect the damage. 

“Ouch, Granger,” he said examining the exposed core. Hermione huffed, yanking her wand back, stuffing it in the back pocket of her jeans. She didn’t like him looking at her wand like that, like her own core was open as well as the dragon’s heartstring. He slowly walked to the far wall, yanking at the middle finger of his black glove, tugging the garment off finger by finger. “It seems we’re going to be spending some time together.” 

He turned to her, biting on the tip of his glove and yanking it off with his teeth. Hermione slowed, moving her gaze to the walls around her and began pacing. There was only the one door and single window, without a single piece of furniture. There was absolutely nothing to occupy their time. 

“Come on, Granger. We’re old school chums- tell me what you’ve been up to,” Malfoy teased. She shot him a glare over her shoulder. He sat against the wall, his gloves discarded on the floor beside him, and the top button of his black dress shirt undone. Blood dripped off his chin from the gash he had earned from the werewolf. 

“You’re bleeding,” she stated, wanting to move closer. Her healer instincts wanted to kneel beside him, mutter the incantation to sew the gash closed. She knew it by heart, it was one of the spells she knew she could do without a wand, but her knowledge isn’t what stopped her- it was the patient. Malfoy was the enemy. Did she have a duty to heal the enemy under the circumstances? She chewed on her bottom lip. Malfoy touched his index and middle finger to the cut on his jaw, coating his fingertips in scarlet. 

“So I am,” he said casually, examining the blood on his hand. Hermione sighed, her mind made up. She quickly walked across the shack and kneeled beside him. “What are you doing?” 

“Cleaning you up,” she said, her voice betraying her reluctance. “I don’t need any werewolf germs getting in there.” 

It had been her deciding factor. While the creature hadn’t gotten his teeth into Malfoy, his claws alone could be enough to curse the man. She thought on Bill Weasley and the long scars that trailed his face and his affinity for raw steaks. However, it did not make her feel at ease being so close to Draco Malfoy. Every cell in her body screamed at her to put more space between them, that he was dangerous and would use any advantage he got to get the best of her- including exploiting her kindness. 

She gently placed trembling fingers on the edge of his jaw. A small gasp left his lips, and Hermione took in his expression. Perhaps the injury hurt more than he had been letting on. His skin was warm to the touch, but not feverish which she was thankful for. The witch whispered the incantation, and watched as Malfoy’s pale skin stitched back together. 

“There,” she said, her fingers still lingering on his jaw. “It won’t even scar.” 

“Pity,” he said, turning his silver eyes on her. “Girls like scars.” 

“Don’t worry Malfoy, you’re in the middle of a war. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to earn some,” Hermione said, the bitterness of their reality sinking in. She stood and crossed back to her side of the shack, leaning against the wall but refusing to sit down. She wanted to be on her feet, ready in case Malfoy decided to pull anything. 

Malfoy leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. He had one leg bent, and the other stretched out in front of him. His black, Death Eater robes fanned out around him as if he was sitting in a dark pool of water. 

Hermione tugged at the sleeves of her jumper, continuing pacing the length of the room. She glanced out the window where the creature stalked outside, its yellows eyes catching her looking at him. He snapped his jaws and she jumped, a small shriek escaping her lips. 

“Scared of dogs, Granger?” Malfoy said, still reclining against the wall. 

“Malfoy, can you shut up for one minute?” Hermione snapped. She was tired, and scared, and stuck in a room with the worst possible person. The least he could do was stop taunting her every few minutes. 

Surprisingly, he listened to her. He closed his eyes and kept his mouth shut. Hermione was truly shocked, but savored the quiet. She paced minute after minute, fidgeting with her jumper and taking her wand out to get another look at it as if had healed itself in her back pocket. She was disappointed each time, returning it to its spot and wondering what the hell she was going to do. She picked leaves from her hair, but probably missed most of them without a mirror to check. 

Eventually, her eyes turned on Malfoy. 

There were dark bags under his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. She had been so swept up in how much older he looked she was unaware of the damage lying beneath the surface. His skin, while it had always been pale, seemed sallow. His cheekbones sharp not only from genetics, but from a gauntness brought on by stress or hunger or who knows what. His hands fidgeted in his lap, clasping and then unclasping them. When he wasn’t moving them around, she could see his fingers shake. 

Again, her healer heart tugged forward once more. She tried to fight it, mentally gluing her trainers to the farthest corner away from Malfoy. He is a Death Eater and fucking Draco Malfoy of all people. She didn’t need to feel any kind of sorry for him. 

A thought crept into her mind. She was stuck with Malfoy until dawn, when the werewolf turned and he could get retrieve his wand. Best case scenario: he takes his wand and leaves. Worst case scenario: he grabs his wand and drags her back to the Dark Lord. She chewed her lip, her arms crossed over her chest as she wore a grove into the floor boards with more incessant pacing. She could see pale fingers trembling against black robes in the corner of her eye. 

Maybe, just maybe, if she used this time to get on his good side he’d let her go come morning. As a favor for all her help and… 

Merlin, what was she thinking. 

Finally, she decided scheme or no scheme she couldn’t stand to watch his hands tremor a second longer. She sat down on her knees beside him, taking his hand in hers without so much as a word. He jumped at the contact, apparently lost in his mind. 

“Sorry,” Hermione said, instinctively. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She kept her hold on his hand, and he didn’t try to pull away. His skin was warm, but terribly thin. She could see veins, more black than blue, beneath the surface. Even with her hand holding onto his palm, his fingers still twitched. Hermione frowned, she had seen the same behavior in a countless number of witches and wizards. 

“Does he torture you often?” she asked, keeping her eyes on his fingers. She ran her fingers over his index, massaging the muscles there. Patience and time were needed to reverse the effects of the Cruciatus curse, something she usually didn’t have time for while healing members of the Order of the Phoenix. However, here she had nothing but time and desperately needed something to focus on so that she could forget about what may happen when dawn broke. That’s all this was- a way to occupy her time. 

“Yes,” he answered, his face devoid of the smirks he had so happily worn for her earlier. Instead, he was staring off at the opposite wall, silver eyes watching nothing. 

She moved on to his middle finger, pressing against the stiff tendons beneath the skin. 

“Um, you should try to do this after every… uh session,” she said quietly, stumbling to try to find the right words. She looked up and found Malfoy looking at her, his eyes not following her working hands but staring at her face. She caught his gaze, his silver eyes hard and cold without his façade. “It’ll help the stiffness, and the tremors.” 

Suddenly, Malfoy snatched his hand away, hiding it in the thick fabric of his robes. 

“I don’t need your help,” he said coldly. Hermione sat for a moment, her hands suddenly chilled without his fingers between them. Then she shook her head. 

“You’re an idiot,” she spat, standing and retreating back to her side of the shack. She sat down against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She wanted to hate him. To hurt him and pronounce it in the name of the Order. Instead, pity made her chest ache. Pity and something else she couldn’t identify. Even if she had truly wanted to punish him, she couldn’t. She felt completely helpless, trapped by time and a broken wand. 

Hermione set her forehead on her knees, taking in a deep breath. The shack smelled like earth and damp wood. She would make it to dawn, and she would fight. 

She closed her eyes for a second and was soon weighed down by sleep.


	2. Dreams and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos left on the first chapter, they really power me to keep going. Tags and rating have been updated. 
> 
> I live for comments, so let me know what you think.

Pale fur rippled over muscle. The beast howled over her as she struggled to claw through the endless pit of vines. They wrapped around her wrists and legs, holding her in place as the monster crawled over her body, its claw digging long gashes into her stomach. Its teeth sunk into the flesh of her neck, ripping the skin and sending hot blood squirting everywhere. Hermione screamed, her own blood splashed against her teeth. She screamed and kicked, but the vines held firm. Her life leaked out slowly, dripping through powerful jaws as the beast lapped at her neck. Her head swam, the full moon overhead too bright for her eyes. It seemed to fill the sky, larger than anything she had ever seen. The beast looked up from her throat, staring down into her face, only he wasn’t a beast anymore. White fur had retreated back and instead Malfoy looked down at her, his chin coated in blood. His lips pulled into a cruel crimson smirk. She shuttered as his fingers brushed the torn skin of her neck. He leaned down, growling into her ear. 

“Granger, you taste _delicious_.”

Hermione woke with a start. She was greeted with stiff muscles and the familiar sight of the empty one room shack. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, stretching out her aching body and trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart. The dream had felt so real, and even awake the metallic tang of iron ghosted across her tongue. Her fingers gripped the base of her throat, half expecting it to be torn open. Instead, it was smooth and unmarred. She turned to window, hoping to see the first rays of dawn but found only starlight. 

She hit her head against the wall, groaning. There were still hours to go. She stared up at the candles enchanted in the rafters. Little white wicks that burned and burned but never melted. They were too far to touch, but someone had carefully set them in place so they’d float overhead, banishing the dark for any traveler who came to stay. It reminded her of Hogwarts’ Great Hall. Like someone stole three candles from the giant ceiling display to stick in this hut in the middle of nowhere. 

Hermione glanced over at her companion. He was awake, his face set in firm lines. His eyes were hard and stared at nothing, unfocused while he was lost in his thoughts. He looked older than his twenty years, like he had seen forty of them. He didn’t appear wolfish at all. The gash on his chin healed quite nicely, then again Hermione held no delusion about her own skills. She was the brightest witch of her age, of course she could heal a cut even without a wand. However, werewolf attacks were tricky. The name Fenrir Greyback was bloodcurdling for a reason. Getting hit with a hex was easy to understand, taking allies, friends, and turning them into uncontrollable monsters struck a deep-set fear. Everyone wanted to be in control of their own body, and the curse of the werewolf stripped them of it.

Malfoy wasn’t an ally or a friend, so she wasn’t sure why she cared. They were under a full moon and he didn’t seem affected, so she was safe for the single night she’d been forced to spend with him. Cleaning the wound was preventing episodes in the future- events she would not be around for. 

She should have let him bleed out. 

“How long was I asleep?” Hermione asked, sitting up. Malfoy blinked, returning back to the world of the living. She was a tad relieved he snapped out of his trance so quickly. Enough wizards and witches had come into her makeshift hospital wards with far off stares for her to know it could mean something more serious than a daydream. 

“Uh, half an hour,” he admitted. Hermione sighed. Even sleep didn’t come easily here. She stretched out on her back, laying parallel to the wall. Maybe, a more comfortable position would help foster sleep. She hadn’t been doing her body any favors folded in on herself like that. She closed her eyes, throwing an arm over her face for good measure to block out the candles’ warm glow. Hermione dragged up thoughts of Crookshanks, and old potions homework. Anything to focus her mind on that might lead to pleasant, werewolf free dreams. “You said some things.” 

“What?” Hermione shot up. Her eyes widened. Malfoy wasn’t smirking, instead his eyes seemed to drill into her. A shiver ran down her spine and she tried to hide the shutter that shook her entire body. He was far away from her, but it felt like he could see every detail of her person. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being cornered by a fox. 

“You spoke in your sleep,” he said. His voice had an edge to it, as if he were hiding something. There was a lot more to his words than just a simple statement of fact. 

“Anything interesting?” she said, trying to sound apathetic. Hermione leaned back down, eyes firmly planted on the ceiling. There was something about Malfoy’s eyes now that unsettled her. Before he had been his usual snarky self, almost warm. He seemed to remember himself, and settled behind a cloak of ice. Perhaps it was a Death Eater tactic, although the lot didn’t strike Hermione as a very unemotional group. Bellatrix was wild and uncouth, often openly delighting in pain. The men who had chased Hermione down the sewers had called after her, taunting and greedy. They were a group ruled by a single emotion- hate. Malfoy never seemed to have a limit to his hatred of Harry, Ron, and herself. He’d parrot phrases from his dad, and be content in his simmering dislike. Ever since he had snatched his hand away from her he’d turned into something else. Her touch had burned him, and now he set his soul on ice to heal. 

“You were screaming,” despite the words that passed through his lips his face remained neutral, almost bored. Hermione’s cheeks burned at the thought of her shouting in her sleep with Malfoy just sitting and watching. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said, her voice stiff. Her eyes remained on the ceiling as the atmosphere shifted from tense to a buzzing awkwardness. The fact that she had fallen asleep in his presence at all was a fatal error that she did not intend to repeat. She should sit up and make herself alert, but that would involve looking at Malfoy and she was not quite ready for that. 

“I thought you didn’t see battle.” His voice was low, as if he couldn’t decide he truly wanted to say the words. Hermione’s head snapped to the side, her cheek pressed to the wooden floor. Malfoy was looking at her, still a statue of ice but his eyes seemed… softer. 

“I don’t usually… but it’s a war. I do what I have to do,” Hermione slowly sat up, trying to choose her words carefully. She wanted to answer it, but not give away any impertinent information. “Wait, how do you know I-”

She hadn’t even got the full question out of her mouth before he spoke. 

“I don’t see you. This is the first time we've crossed paths since the war started.” It was such a simple answer, and yet it carried so much with it. It told her that Malfoy regularly saw battle and that during those battles he… looked for her? He probably just kept tabs on the classmates he recognized. While he hit from behind a mask, he could take it all the peers he was facing. Still, it seemed like an odd detail to hang on to. Maybe, he was waiting for the day to meet her on the battlefield to strike her down once and for all. Then again, he had a perfectly good chance moments ago when she was asleep to do the same. It was Malfoy; maybe good old bare-handed strangling was too muggle for him. 

“Oh,” Hermione said, sitting cross-legged and leaning back on her hands. “Well, it wasn’t a war dream if you were worried.” 

If he was worried? What was she thinking? In the moment it had felt like worry, but she had to put his words into context. He was the enemy, a Malfoy, a Death Eater. He had no right to even think about what she was dreaming.

He seemed to be facing his own struggle with her words. His blonde eyebrows pinched together, a small wrinkling forming in the pale skin between them.

 

“I mean… wondering,” she tacked on, a half a second too late. Hermione bit her lip, banning anymore words from leaving them. She was talking way too much. She’d barely spent an hour alone with Malfoy and had already fallen asleep and then started talking about her dreams. Her back molars grinded against each other, the sound echoed through her skull. The sensation of the werewolf’s claws digging into her stomach ghosted over her skin and she shuttered. 

“I can make them go away.” Hermione snapped her head up. Malfoy’s eyes were on her, focused and burning. His body remained tense, like a snake about to strike. 

“What do you mean?” she betrayed her promise of no more words, but it seemed acceptable under the circumstance. 

“You helped me,” long, pale fingers gestured to his chin. “I could help you back.” 

Hermione narrowed her brown eyes at him. 

“How exactly?” she couldn’t help her curiosity. What she should have done was told him to stick his help up his arse and faced the wall. However, this was the Hermione that had healed him without being asked. She was a sucker for favors, and Malfoy knew it. 

“I can take nightmares away. I pull them up in your mind and,” he flicked his wrist, as if waving a bad dream away in the air. “It’s gone.” 

“Is that what you do for your Lord, then? Pry into people's minds and steal their memories?” she sneered. Malfoy must have practiced quite a bit since their time in school together. Legilimency wasn’t an easy skill to learn, but a very useful one especially for an evil wizard with no morals. They could crack open anyone’s brain and scan any memory that wanted. They could look at every thought they ever had as if they were scanning book spines in the library.

“On occasion. I don’t steal anything, I ease their pain.” 

“Sorry, but certainly you understand why I don’t trust you inside my head,” Hermione snorted. 

“Fair,” was all he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall. They considered each other for a moment, both taking in the other’s form. 

“I guess He finds you pretty valuable,” Hermione said, her voice venom. She didn’t want him to ever forget what side he chose. He could pretend he was offering help, but she knew what he really was. 

Malfoy shrugged. Hermione’s blood ran cold. Draco Malfoy, the boy who rubbed ever achievement in her face, who was proud for the sake of being proud, just shrugged off being important. He might be more prominent on the dark side than she had first thought. She wanted to snap at him, to reveal that she knew he was lying, to show him she knew all his little tricks. Something stopped her. Whether it was fear or curiosity who is to say, but she pressed her lips into a firm line and moved that tad of information to the back of her brain for safe keeping. 

The next few hours dragged by. Hermione eventually stood up, pacing around the shack trying to keep herself from going crazy, or talking to Malfoy both seemed to be equally detrimental to her mental health. She neared the window, chancing another look outside. The werewolf had moved on through the forest, probably in search for a meal that wasn’t locked inside a warded hut. The moonlight danced across the wood of Malfoy’s wand, still sitting on a mound of leaves. It was so close, just a few footsteps away from the end of the stairs to the hut. 

She glanced over at Malfoy, who once again was lost in his thoughts. The man seemed perfectly content being lost in his own mind. It was unsettling how easily he seemed to fold in on himself. Hermione took out her own wand, willing it to apparate her one more time. It didn’t even spark. No smoke, no fire, just wood.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She remembered the first time she held her vine wood wand in Ollivander’s shop. It was the item that cemented her in the wizarding world. Before she had been a muggle girl, top of her class but nothing special. Now she was a witch- she had the power of magic. It made her feel as tall as a mountain holding that wand. It had carried her through Hogwarts and through the war thus far and now it was broken for good. She shoved the broken wand in her pocket not wanting to part with it just yet. She didn’t know if she ever could. Looking back up at the window, red eyes glared back at her. 

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes still blurring with tears unshed. White fur pressed up against the window, blood soaked teeth scratched against the glass. Beady red eyes glared straight through her, as if reading her soul. Then it’s giant paw smacked at the glass of the window, sending a splintering crack across its surface. 

She screamed, an uncontrollable shriek of terror and fell back on the floor. She scrambled away from the window, fear sending her heart on to a brutal pace. 

Malfoy was standing at the window before she knew what was going on. 

“What did you see?” he asked, calmly. As if there wasn’t a giant werewolf outside. She blinked, and saw that the window wasn’t cracked. Her mouth hung open as she tried to make since of the last few moments. She stood up, slowly walking to the unscathed glass. She passed Malfoy, his cold eyes watchful. She pressed a hand to the window pane. 

She imagined it. 

The werewolf that kept them locked inside had black fur, and it was no where in sight. The one she had seen... well it had appeared more like the one in her dream. The dream she'd rather not think about at the moment. 

“Nothing,” she said, her throat dry. Her fingers trembled against the cold glass. She could still hear the beast’s breathing her mind, as if it was right behind her huffing into her ear. 

Without any prelude, Malfoy grabbed her shoulders and twisted her around. He placed a hand on either side of her face, cool palms pressed to her hot cheeks. 

“What are you-”

Silver eyes poured into her and suddenly there was a crash of his mind into hers. She gasped at the intrusion, unprepared for the assault on her mind. He was digging through her thoughts- through her memories. He could see anything that ever happened to her, as if flipping through the pages of a book. Hermione tried to push him out, but he was practiced in the arts of legilimency and knew how to hold on inside another’s mind. 

She watched as he pulled up the image of the pale werewolf at the window, the glass cracking like a spiderweb. The same terror ran through her veins as the first time she saw it. He dropped it, flicking through the memories to get to the source of the fear. 

He paused for a moment at the image of her broken wand and the flood of emotion that came with it. Then he moved on, passing by the empty hours until he reached her dream. 

Hermione shuddered at the feeling of the veins wrapped tight around her wrists, cutting off the blood flow to her fingers. She could feel the beast’s hot breath against her flesh right before its teeth sunk into her throat. Having felt it once before, everything was clearer now. Every nerve its claws hit, every tendon snapped in its jaws was felt in extreme detail. She tried to fight it, tried to pull herself from the vines’ hold but it was no use. In this dream they could not be severed. 

She could feel Malfoy watching, even through the repeated pain and terror, the pressure of his gaze cut through all of it. She tried to press out of the memory, but her attempts were nothing compared to his experience. 

The beast shuddered, its bloody fur rippling and changing, its bones cracking and reassembling. Malfoy’s dream visage appeared, dripping in crimson and growled at her once more. 

“Granger, you taste _delicious_.”

Malfoy snapped out of her mind. She was shaking when she came to. Her knees had given out during the inspection of her mind, but she had not tumbled to the floor. Instead she was gathered in Draco’s arms, her head leaning against his shoulder. She shoved off his chest, trying to put as much distance between herself and his black robes as possible. However, she was still weak from the unexpected lesson in occlumency and tripped over her own feet, crashing into the wooden floorboards. 

Hermione gasped, trying to get air back into her lungs. Her mind swam, exhausted from the attack. She felt like she had just ran a marathon and the prize at the end was getting smacked in the forehead with a mallet. Her skull felt like it was splintering into a million pieces. Sweat dripped down her clammy skin, and she felt like she might throw up. 

“Don’t worry,” Malfoy’s voice said from above her, calm as ever. “It’ll pass soon.” 

Hermione shot him an ugly glare, not trusting herself to come up with any string of words that would sound coherent in her current state. Malfoy met her gaze, his lips knighted with a smirk. He kneeled down beside her, his black robes brushing her over her as they settled against the floor. He took her chin in his fingers, his skin was warm against her own. He considered her, an idea flashing across his grey eyes. She looked up at him, her tired eyes struggling to stay open. The sparkle in his eye suddenly vanished, locked away in the furthest part of his mind. His hand fell from her face, and he walked back to his side of the shack, his robes as black as shadows trailing after his heels. 

Hermione set her head against the floor and welcomed the cool nothingness of sleep. 

Her dream came again. Despite Malfoy’s insistence of ridding her of the nightmare, he had only observed it. The moon was bright overhead, and the vines snaked around her wrists and ankles only this time she held up perpendicular to the forest floor. She could see the trees around her, and she waited, her heart beating in her ear, to catch a glimpse of white fur. She waited with bated breath, eyeing the stretch of forest before her. 

She felt his breath against the back of her neck. Goosebumps raised across her skin as a hand gripped her hip. A human hand, not a claw. Lips brushed over the side of her neck before pressing a kiss at the junction of her shoulder and throat. Another hand slide across her ribcage before palming one of her breasts. She moaned, throwing her head back and exposing more flesh for his mouth to attack. He licked up her neck to her jaw, his hand resting on her hip inching down between her legs. She bucked against the vines as his fingers slipped under her skirt, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of her inner thigh. 

Hermione tilted her head to the side to drink in the silver eyes that stared down at her. He watched her expression as his fingers rubbed a small circle against her clit. She gasped, eyes wide as the sensation of his touch overtook her body. He smiled down at her, pressing a brief kiss to her lips. He tasted like iron. 

“Hermione!” 

Her eyes snapped open and it was daylight. The door to the shack was open and sunlight spilled over the floorboards. Harry was leaning over her, his green eyes filled with worry. When he saw her eyes flicker open he pulled her into a hug. 

“We were so worried,” he mumbled into her hair. She looked over his shoulder where Ginny and Ron stood. 

“My wand,” she croaked, her throat sore. She fumbled in her pocket before pulling it out to show them. Ginny gasped at the giant hole blown in the side of the wood. 

“It’s okay, Mione,” Ron said, kneeling beside her and wrapping a hand around the wand. “We’re gonna take you back to base. It’s going to be alright.” 

Hermione let them dote on her. Ron slipped an arm around her waist, bringing her to her feet and letting her rest her weight against his shoulder. They stepped out into the forest. Birds chirped from high up in the trees, a very different scene from the one she experienced the night before. Her eyes fell to the little pile of dead leaves where Draco’s wand had sat the night before. It was gone. When had he left? 

They vanished from the forest with a crack, reappearing in 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ron left to tell everyone that Hermione had been retrieved safely and to find a new wand for her use, while Ginny helped her up the stairs to the bedrooms. 

“I’m really sorry about your wand,” she said. Hermione gave her a weak smile, she was thankful for the kindness even if it didn’t help her wand get fixed. “At least it worked for you when you needed it most.” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, halting on the stairs. 

“The patronus you sent. We never would have found you without it,” Ginner said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her up the next step. “Ron barely believed it was yours until it spoke. He said it looked more like a ferret than an otter.” 

“Yeah, that sure was lucky,” Hermione said, as she reached the door at the top of the stairs. “Thank you, Ginny. I’m going to rest for a bit.” 

“I’ll come check on you in a little bit,” the girl smiled before bouncing back down the stairs.

Hermione shut the door behind her, her mind running rapidly as she tried to connect her thoughts. 

She didn’t even think Malfoy _could_ cast a patronus charm, especially one that spoke. There were a lot of things that he could have done when morning came and he finally had his wand back. With her past out, he could have taken her back to the Death Eaters, could have tortured her, or even killed her. 

Instead, he did… that. 

She had a million questions, and she was going to get answers.


	3. Parchment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this update took so long. To be completely honest I was so enthralled with SenLinYu's fic Manacled I couldn't even think about touching this. However, she's on a brief hiatus (get well soon!) so I decided it was back to work. Obviously, this work is heavily influenced by her fic especially healer!hermione. She is such an inspiration to me and makes me want to work even harder on my own fanfiction. So, this is me working harder. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoy.

As much as Hermione would have liked to investigate Draco Malfoy’s motives, in the week following their chance meeting she barely had a moment to herself. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been the only one to cross paths with a werewolf. Lee Jordan was lying in the makeshift hospital room of 12 Grimmauld Place with only a third of his face left. He had dragged himself to the doorstep the morning after the full moon and barely remembered a thing. Luckily, Hermione had arrived with Ron and the others not too long beforehand and she had been ready to work piecing the boy back together. It was bloody business, and too long from when the attack occurred to reverse the effects of the bite. After working as hard as she could on making Lee look more like a person, she left him alone with Remus. They had a lot to discuss. 

Hermione wandered towards the kitchen as the afternoon brought a calm over the sick. She washed her hands in the sink, a hold over from her younger muggle years, and took a seat at the table. Ginny and Ron were eating sandwiches and offered her one. Hermione took them up on the offer, slowly chewing the bread trying to make the meal last longer than it normally would. If she had the time to savor each bite, she was going to use it. 

“I just keep thinking of how scary it must have been,” Ginny said through a mouthful of wheat and jelly. 

“Hm?” Hermione hummed, more focused on ham and cheese than her companions. 

“Last night?” Ginny insisted. Hermione blinked and remembered suddenly what was being asked of her. After a full morning in medic mode she wasn’t ready to focus on the confusing night she’d had. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t… fun.” Words failed her. How would one describe the events of the past evening in the shack? Much less when one has to edit out most of what happened. Then again, she could tell them the truth. Tell them all that she had spent the night with Draco Malfoy. That’d go over great. _Don’t worry guys he skimmed my mind but didn’t get any Order secrets, just the weird dream I’d had about him_. Just the conversation she wanted to have right now. Hermione’s cheeks flushed from the very thought of it. 

“An entire night alone in a shack with a werewolf outside would be enough to drive someone mad,” Ron said, grabbing a second sandwich from the platter. 

“Thank Merlin you’re alright,” Ginny smiled. The conversation seemed to end after that. The two red heads quickly finishing their lunch before heading out on some of Shacklebolt’s business. Hermione almost felt relieved that they hadn’t pushed for any details. They obviously wanted to acknowledge that she’d been in danger, but beyond that they didn’t seem to mind her quietness. After all, they thought she’d cast a Patronus and then fell asleep for most of the night. Not the most eventual war story to tell afterwards.  
The bread felt impossibly dry as Hermione swallowed it. She banished her sandwich only half eaten and walked back to the medical ward.

* * *

Hermione spent the rest of the day sealing cuts and discussing the future of Lee Jordan with Lupin. The older man looked especially haggard, even considering it was the day after the full moon. 

“He’s strong, he’ll be able to live with it. I just wish he didn’t have to,” his voice was hoarse and his eyes ringed with purple. She’d given him a small smile and told him to go upstairs and rest- doctor’s orders. He just nodded and followed her advice without a word. Hermione made a note to keep an eye on him. 

A sober mood hung over the residence. The able-bodied fighters were scattered across England. Hermione had heard talk of trying to help neighboring countries against Voldemort’s invasion as well as their own. It felt impossible to help anyone else before they won their own home back, but Hermione didn’t object. She moved between the small, white beds checking on her patients keeping her mind busy on matters she was completely certain of. Besides Lee Jordan in his own curtained off room and Remus upstairs resting, she had Alicia Spinnet recovering from a slashing hex to her throat. It nearly took her head off. It took a whole slew of bone regrowth, tissue creation, and skin melding but she was coming along. A lot of tissue still needed to be regrown before the girl could even think about standing up. On top of it all, her vocal cords still remained damaged. They were a unique tissue, one that couldn’t be healed as easily as a simple cut or even a tendon. Despite all the prodding and pain, Alicia was being very patient. Angelina Johnson, who was often found at her bedside, was not. More than once in the previous week Johnson had confronted Hermione and accused her of showing more attention to the other patients and neglecting Alicia. They were unpleasant memories that had faded to the back of her mind with all the chaos as of late. Luckily, Johnson was out trying to track down information and the ward was free of confrontations. For now. 

She stood beside Alicia Spinnet’s bed, casting a diagnostic on the girl’s throat and examining how far she’d come. She was worried about her spine, but it seemed to be falling back into place quite nicely. Her vocal cords were still slow going, and Hermione prepared herself to hear an earful from Angelina soon. 

With all of her patients asleep and no one else to worry over, Hermione started the long trip up the stairs. She rarely had any peace and when she finally had a moment to recover it felt more like a chore than a relief. She’d love to sleep, but she rarely managed an entire night’s rest. Either she was woken up to deal with a blown off arm, or her mind would wake itself up filling the quiet hours with a laundry list of potions to brew and plants to harvest. She’d have the whole day planned out before the sun had risen: check on Alicia, change the dressing on the brown-haired boy whose name you don’t remember, hand out contraceptive potions to witches who need it-

Her duties were endless. 

She stopped at the first door at the top of the stairs. None of the rooms were truly assigned to anyone. Members had their preferred beds but when push came to shove you slept where you could. The front room had unofficially been left to the older members of the Order. Tonks, and Moody and the like that could use a few moments away from the youthful chaos. Arthur and Molly also spent time in there when they were around. Most of their time was spent in the homes for displaced witches and wizards, the children who were caught in the middle of this giant mess. 

Hermione peeked in and saw Remus snoring, lying on top of the sheets and his shoes still on his feet. He needed more rest, now more than ever. She wished Tonks was here, she always seemed to soothe the greyness he carried with him. A balm to the already long life he’d had to live. However, her power as a Metamorphmagus made her very useful and Moody had her jumping across the country running errands and gathering as much information on Death Eater movements as she could. Lonely work for both of them. 

She moved down the hallway, slipping into the “Girl’s Dormitory.” Hermione recalled someone saying it used to be a drawing room, it certainly didn’t look like one now. The Order had managed to fit six beds inside, all pressed against walls and shoved into corners in an attempt to make an open space where they could roll out maps to plot raids and store personal effects. While it wasn’t forbidden for the boys to sleep there the usual occupants were Angelina Johnson, Ginny, the Patil twins, Katie Bell, and Hermione. Ginny, however, spent more time hidden away in closets with Harry than actually sleeping in her bed. 

Hermione crossed the room to the bed shoved in the farthest corner. It was the most awkward one to get to but the witch preferred to be as far away from the door as possible. A habit rooted in paranoia but helpful all the same. She kicked her trainers off under the bed and stretched out on the sheets. Afternoon light streamed through the thin muslin curtains and Hermione watched the warm beams moved along the floor boards until sleep pulled at her mind and 12 Grimmauld place fell away. 

Her school jumper drooped over her hands and she impatiently shoved the sleeves off her wrists. The table in front of her was covered in books and parchment, an ink well sitting precariously perched on top of a volume of _Quintessence: A Quest_. The Charms essay was slow going, not because of a lack of knowledge on Hermione’s end, but by the sheer amount of work she had to do. She had just finished all of her Potions homework and helped Ron limp through his own work. There was still Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy projects to do, the latter of which had to be done under a half moon. 

Despite the looming deadlines, there was something very comforting about being back in the Hogwarts’ Library. Like coming home after a long vacation and being able to sleep in your own bed for the first time in months. The smell of aging parchment and ancient ink combined with the warm glow from the candles settled the rushed beating of her heart. She could have laid her head down on the table and taken a nap then and there. 

But not when there was work to be done. 

Hermione gripped her quill, quickly scratching down words as quickly as possible without sacrificing the neatness of her handwriting. There were already a few puddles of ink on the yellowing parchment, but nothing a few spells couldn’t fix. If she worked quick enough, she might be able to get to bed at a decent hour. That or have to be ushered out of the library and write the rest of it in her bed with the curtains closed. Hermione much preferred the library to the dormitory for work, especially written assignments, but she’d take what she could get. 

She looked up, rolling a cramp out of her wrist, and looked for the time. Instead, her eyes fell on the only other person in the room. It was rather odd to have an empty library, especially on a school night like this. Hermione would have thought most of the other Gryffindors would have had the same work load as herself and be scribbling away. She blinked, looking around. Irma Pince wasn’t even walking around flicking her wand and sending books to be reshelved. There was simply no one here, except for Hermione and the student with their back to her.

Once she was attuned to the silence it was deafening. 

The figure sat at a table across the room at the edge of the study area where the tables began to melt into shelves. Black robes trimmed with green had been shrugged off and thrown over the back of his chair. He was huddled over a paper, the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. 

Draco Malfoy. His prefect badge hung on his discarded robes, the light catching the edge of the metal. His hair was sticking up like he had been running his fingers through it. His eyes were focused strictly on his parchment. Whatever he was working on seemed to be all consuming. 

Hermione watched him for a moment. It was very easy to dislike Draco when he was sneering into your face, it was a much odder sensation to watch him simply be a person. A student. A sixteen-year-old working on homework instead of a menace dead set on humiliating you in anyway he could. 

In the distance bells chimed signaling curfew. Hermione sighed, looking down at her unfinished essay. She had at least another hour to look forward to scribbling in the dim wand light of the dormitories. 

She glanced up, almost certain she’d have to exchange some words with Draco. However, when she looked towards his table he was gone. The boy himself had vanished, but all of his papers and books stayed behind, even his robes and badge still hung on his chair. 

Hermione sat perfectly still for a moment, casting a glance around the deathly quiet library before finally standing up. Her Charms essay was a distant memory in her mind as she quietly slipped through the rows of studying tables until she got to Draco’s work station. 

She leaned over the chair, peering at the Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts books he had strewn across the table. The parchment he had been scribbling on didn’t appear to be any kind of essay or homework at all. Instead it was a mess of bullet points and sentences written nearly on top of each other, a mess of notes without any sense of organization. 

Hermione leaned in closer, squinting down at the paper trying to make sense of the hurried cursive. 

“What are you doing?” his voice broke the silence of the library like a thunderclap. Hermione gasped, and turned around to face the accusation. 

She found only the empty room of 12 Grimmauld Place, late evening light fading over the metal framed beds. Hushed voices leaked in from the hallway. The once quiet house was now full again. Hermione sat up, rubbing a crick that had formed in her neck. From the sun she gaged she must have slept for a few hours but she hardly felt like she’d gotten any rest at all. Her heart was still beating wildly from being caught… doing what exactly? 

It wasn’t a memory. It had been too strange to be a memory and yet it felt so real. She could still smell the old parchment as if it was right in front of her. 

Hermione frowned. This war had taken that away from her. The harmless steady work of homework and essays. The magic of a world separated from her childhood where she didn’t seem to fit in. Hogwarts had always been a dream to her. She bit her lip, pushing back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. 

Not now. Now she had to work. 

She slipped on her trainers and stepped out into the hallway. Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself to face whatever injuries were waiting for her downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me write faster so tell me what you think.


	4. Not Yet

The ailments are never ending. Even with every cut sealed and broken bone grown back there are still wounds to heal. Hermione is completely out of calming draught and only a single vial of dreamless sleep remains in the potion cupboard. A cauldron is bubbling away in the corner, the sweet scent of lavender reaching her nose. It’ll only yield another weeks’ worth of calming draught at the most, and there were more Order members needing it. No one ever demanded it, but she could see it in their eyes. She slipped the vials on their nightstands and it made the day go by smoother. 

The nights, however, were a different story. She had given out the dreamless sleep like candy right after the full moon, but Hermione found her supply dwindling and began rationing it for the members who needed it the most. The quiet midnight hours of 12 Grimmauld Place were no more. The girl would lay wide awake curled up in her sheets listening to her friends’ nightmares. Katie Bell, asleep in the bed nearest her, would whimper in her sleep gripping her pillow like a vice. She could hear a male voice down the hall screaming before the others in the room woke him up and calmed him down. Angelina Johnson had returned a few days after the full moon and spent most of the time in the infirmary with Alicia Spinnet, but Hermione always heard her shuffle quietly to her bed and sob against the mattress before finally falling asleep. 

It felt unbearable. 

With her cauldron occupied, she moved through the hospital ward trying to busy her worried hands. The wand Ron had grabbed for her after the full moon was a bit longer than her original one and not exactly suited for delicate healing spells. She was making do, but some of the simpler spells were better executed with wandless magic and a lot more focus. Hermione kept the wand in her back pocket most of the time, only pulling it out when it was necessary. She knew Ron had grabbed it from the collected of wands taken off of fallen Order members with a couple taken from Death Eaters. She didn’t remember who the aspen wand belonged to, and she rather she never learned. When she had the time Hermione already decided to go upstairs to the little box and try out as many wands as she could. It would feel terrible handling the deceased possessions like that, but it might keep the current Order members alive.

Alicia Spinnet was awake, her bright eyes fixated on Hermione as her mouth open and a small groan escaped her lips. She tried to speak for a moment longer before raising a cupped hand to her mouth. Hermione gave her a small, unmotivated smile before moving the glass of water to the girl’s lips. She drank half of it before finally taking a breath. 

Hermione took out her new wand, casting a diagnostic. The colors didn’t glow as bright or clearly with this new wand, and the whole layout was harder to read without her wand channeling the magic but it was enough. 

“You’re making good progress, just remember not to push yourself,” she reminded the witch before turning back to the potions closet to check on her cauldron. 

Brown eyes flickered to the single vial of dreamless sleep on the shelf. It had been a week since her night in the shack. She thought her dreams would wane after her afternoon nap spent in the Hogwarts library. A simple trick pulled by her brain, trying to make sense of seeing Draco Malfoy again. Instead, they persisted. The next night she had been walking through the dungeons after curfew, her school robes dragging across the stone floor as she tried to remember her way back to Gryffindor Tower. She’d run right into Draco, his Prefect badge catching the dim light of the corridor. He was young in her mind, his blonde hair falling across his forehead and his cheeks still plagued with acne as they had been when they were in school. He had wrinkled his nose at her, his light eyes looking down at her like she was an insect. 

“You’re past hours, Granger. That’s ten points from Gryffindor,” he said, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his lips. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead raised her chin, trying to match the height of a boy at least a foot taller than her. 

“I’m well aware, Malfoy,” she said, stepping aside to walk around him only for the Slytherin to step into her path. Hermione paused, taking a breath and trying to calm her nerves. “You’re in my way.” 

“I’m well aware,” he grinned down at her. She wasn’t in the mood for playing games, not right now. Her book bag pulled at her shoulders, weighing down her back with the weight of her books. There were a million things she needed to do once she got back to Gryffindor Tower, and she was already feeling down after losing her house a handful of points. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, all her frustration and exhaustion released in a single breath. 

“Malfoy, please. I need to go.” She opened her eyes to see Draco, but not the same Draco from before. He was a few inches taller, his white blonde hair shorter and slicked back. His skin was clear, his jawline more pronounced and covered in a very fine layer of stubble. He had bags under his eyes, like this older Draco hadn’t slept in weeks. 

He didn’t say anything, only stepped aside to let her pass. Hermione hesitated, only for a moment, before walking past him feeling his gaze on her back as she went. 

Hermione took dreamless sleep every night afterwards. It didn’t seem like a big deal, there had been plenty of vials all labeled and set in neat little lines. Then Dean Thomas was suffering from night terrors, and Katie Bell’s incessant whimpering and weeping was keeping the whole room of girls awake. She saw Tonks slip a vial from the closet without asking first, and Hermione wondered how many others were doing the same. She drained a bottle before turning in, not wanting to return to the haunting halls of a Hogwarts she never went to. Her dreams skewed her memories, conjuring up events that never happened and making them feel altogether too real. 

But with only a single vial left, she could not in good conscience take it. One night would be fine. Two even. However long it took to get her hands on another batch. 

Hermione finished up her cauldron of Calming Draught. It would need to sit over night but in the morning it’d be ready. She made a note to make more as soon as possible, she didn’t want to be in a position without any again. It was too risky, especially considering how tightly strung everyone was lately. Voldemort’s hold on England was growing stronger by the day, and the Order was turning to more drastic decisions and attacks to try to keep his influence at bay. That’s how Hermione had lost her wand, running headlong into a Death Eater hideout in some attempt at courage. 

She took another lungful of the sweet, yet subtle lavender of the calming draught before shutting the door to the potions closet and putting up a new set of wards to keep unwanted members out. In this case the new wand came in handy, the long roundabout way she had to use the spell to set the lock would take way too long to reverse. By the time they got it open Hermione would already be alerted and be down the stairs to face the thief. 

Not that the Order was full of thieves. They were hurting and desperate, she understood that, but someone had to be level-headed. Someone had to take charge and make sure there was enough for the witches and wizards who needed it the most. 

Hermione climbed the stairs but could already hear poor Katie Bell’s mumbling whimpers from the hallway. She cared for the girl and understood her pain was unreal. She’d returned from a scouting mission with burns covering three fourths of her body. Hermione managed to heal most of them, but there was still scarring on the girl’s arms and torso, reaching up to wind around her neck like a string of pearls. She never said who did it, never talked about it with anymore. It simply must have been too hard to relive, and yet she did it every night. Hermione almost went back for the last vial of dreamless sleep but stopped herself. 

Katie was strong. She could survive one night. 

However, Hermione wasn’t sure she could get any rest in the room. Instead she wandered to the end of the hallway where a window overlooked the muggle street. There was a small seat set under the window with thick dark green pillows covering the polished wood. The witch curled up, leaning against the wall with her head against the chill window frame. She could hear the other people in the house, walking around the kitchen and shifting in their beds. Every noise seemed too loud, too close. 

She closed her eyes, blocking it all out focusing on the cold of the window beneath her cheek. The chill sunk into her skin sending a shiver down her spine. 

“You’ll be working in pairs,” Snape’s voice carried across the chilly classroom. It felt cold enough that his breath should be coming out in white puffs, but the freezing temperature didn’t seem to affect him or the other students moving around her. Their faces were a blur, familiar enough to not second guess them being in class but not distinct enough to know who they were. A flash of dark hair, a glance of brown eyes, and everyone was huddled around their respective tables peering at their book. Some were already raiding the ingredients cabinet. Hermione blinked. Had she fallen asleep in class? She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be making. Her heartbeat frantically as she flipped through her own potions book. She had bookmarks and labels noting their progression throughout the year but Snape did have a tendency to skip ahead when he became impatient. 

“Ms. Granger,” the professor’s low voice drew her name out, emphasizing the s in her title. She looked up, meeting his hard gaze from across the classroom. “Who is your partner?” 

Hermione looked beside her to find the space at the table next to her empty. She looked around the room, but all the other students seemed to be paired up. She didn’t see Harry or Ron anywhere, were they sick? They always had potions together. 

“Ms. Granger, please find a partner. I will now allow you to complete the assignment on your own,” Snape said, his dark eyes drilling into her, his fingers pressed flat against his desk. She had requested similar exemptions for her in the past, but today she would get no mercy. Her brown eyes scanned the room, embarrassment and fear bubbling in her gut. This was the closest Hogwarts ever came to muggle schooling. The feeling of standing in front of the class as all the other kids were picked for teams until you were the only one left. Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and began to rise from her seat preparing herself to wander the room until she found someone alone or a group willing to let her join. 

“Granger can work with me,” a voice announced behind her, a hand settling on her shoulder. Hermione didn’t need to turn around to know who owned the voice. Pompous, slightly nasally, and entirely too happy to be paired with Hermione of all people. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, giving her a small smile before turning to his supply cabinet were the growing crowd of students were making a mess of his tidy shelves. 

“Crabbe and Goyle pick each other, then?” Hermione snapped, focusing on the pages of her textbook instead of turning around. 

“They’re skipping, probably didn’t want to risk being paired with you.” His hand was still on her shoulder and Hermione resisted the urge to shrug it off. He leaned over her other shoulder, encasing her in his robes as he peered at her potions book. He smelled like library books and a hint of a deep, earthy scent like teakwood. Hermione kept her focus on her book, flipping through the pages trying to find the right until she finally gave up. The witch slapped her desk in frustration, slouching back in the chair and turning her head to ask Draco. 

“What potion are we-” her words tangled up in her through as she came eye to eye with silver. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breath. The noise of the classroom faded away until there was only Hermione and Draco, his arm wrapped around her still caressing her shoulder. His eyes ran over her face as if he was memorizing it. Hermione finally exhaled, her breath coming out in a puff of white smoke. She shivered, the sudden cold reaching deep into her bones. Draco’s grip tightened, pulling her closer to him. She turned into him, savoring the warmth of his body against her own. 

“Hermione?” a voice called for her from the other end of the room, hazy and mottled. Maybe it was Professor Snape? She was in class wasn’t she? She needed to make something… what page was it? Hermione tried to turn towards the voice but her head was too heavy, her movements bogged down as the voice grew louder. Draco pulled her closer to his chest, and Hermione gave up fighting the molasses air and leaned against his shoulder her mind hazy but for the smell of parchment and earth. 

“Don’t wake up- not yet.” 

Hermione felt the cold creeping into her skin, her teeth chattering as the sharp pang of the chill hit her gums. 

“What?”

She woke with a start, her cheek nearly frozen through from leaning against the window pane. Hermione jumped to her feet but found 12 Grimmauld Place still quiet. A clock at the end of hallway pointed a curved hand to three. 

The witch descended the stairs, rubbing life back into her frozen chilled cheek and trying to ignore the scent of teakwood that seemed stuck to her skin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time sure flies when you're busy as hell. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Hermione snapped her eyes back open, quickly standing up from the chair beside Alicia Spinnet’s chair to pace around the ward. Exhaustion set into her bones, her head throbbing from lack of sleep but the witch was too nervous to slip under. After running downstairs, away from the window and her dreams, Hermione had spent the entire night rearranging the potions closet and banishing dirty linens and conjuring new ones, even scrubbing down the kitchen with a sponge the muggle way. By the time the rest of the safe house woke up the entire downstairs was spotless. 

Not that anyone noticed. 

Ron commented on the dark bags under her eyes and she’d brushed it off. He didn’t push past it, simply grabbed some toast and went off on his way. It was Ginny who stared at her for a second too long, who noticed the tremor in her fingers as she fiddled with her replacement wand that was too long and too foreign. 

“You never came to bed last night.” It had been a statement of fact as Ginny narrowed her eyes at her. Hermione nodded. Ginny’s gaze swept across the hospital ward that was, for the most part, very calm. “Didn’t seem that busy when I went to bed.” 

“Things change.” Hermione had said before running off to the potions closet again. 

She’d leaned against a bookshelf in there, resting her head against thick leather-bound descriptions of various potions when her eyes started to slide closed. It wasn’t until her body started to relax and she nearly fell to the floor that she woke up. She gripped her cauldron watching the calming draught bubble and boil and took a long inhale of its cool scent. She chugged a Wideye potion and went back to the floor. 

It was amazing how much one witch could accomplish on no sleep and powered by nerves. Hermione spent the next five days dosing Wideye. 

Her fingers shook against the stirring rod so violently she had to put it down and finish the potion in an hour. She saw little black bugs crawling up the staircase that no amount of banishing spells seemed to do away with. She didn’t know when it was day or night, dusk or dawn. People came in people came out and Hermione weaved through time like a tourist, unaware of the bonds and rituals held by the others. 

That is until the potion ran out. 

She paced around the first floor, Alicia Spinnet’s eyes watching her drift from one side of the room to the other. 

“Sit.” She croaked out. She had improved immensely over the last few days. She was awake more often and was able to a couple words at a time. Nothing too long or else Hermione could hear the strain and make her stop. Hermione shook her head, not even stopping her marching to look in the witch’s direction. 

“I’ll fall asleep if I sit.” 

“Good.” 

Hermione stopped, this time giving the girl a pointed stare. The corner of Alicia’s mouth curled up and she settled into her pillows satisfied with herself. 

“Speaking of which, do you want a potion to help you sleep?” Hermione drifted over to the foot of Alicia’s bed. With recovery came other problems. Spinnet was plagued with similar nightmares as the others that had seen combat. Hermione had watched her wake up clutching her throat too many times not to offer her a vial of Dreamless sleep once the new batch was ready. The doses were going like crazy. Once word got out that more was ready Hermione had a line outside of the little closet begging for a bit. She had another cauldron bubbling away that would be ready in a day and a half, hoping she had enough for everyone tonight. 

“Please.” Alicia’s grin fell. Hermione gave her a comforting smile before leaving for the potions closet. 

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her and embracing the quiet of the room. Her eyelids drooped and Hermione considered, for the first time, that sleep might be a good idea. She looked to the Dreamless sleep vials, counting the remaining doses. 

Seven. Enough for Alicia, Katie Bell, and Lee Jordan to have a dose for tonight and tomorrow night and one left over for her. Hermione bit her lip. Those were the three that needed it the most, but if she took the last vial for herself. But what if another raid happened in the time before the new batch was ready? What if Katie Bell started building an immunity and needed two doses? There was too many questions, too many contingencies. They would need that single bottle. Hermione could not take it in good faith. 

But she could not shake what had occurred in her dream.

He’d spoken to her. Not as a student at Hogwarts, not like a figment of her brain placing him in the past, but as a real person. 

_“Don’t wake up- not yet.”_

She could still feel his arms wrapped around her, the smell of parchment and teakwood clinging to his skin. Hermione would turn and smell it on her own clothes, as if he’d been in the safe house. Her chest grew tight and she grabbed a single vial from the shelf before leaving the closet to rush it out to Alicia. 

She had to think about something else. If her mind lingered too long on sharp eyes and cruel smiles she’d go mad. 

She set the potion down on Alicia’s bedside before drifting from patient to patient on another round of the injured. 

The large clock in the hall chimed nine as she flicked her wand over a young sleeping wizard, checking on the internal damage left over from a particularly nasty hex. She was focused on the soft, glowing orbs hanging in the air when her wards around the potions triggered. Hermione rushed out into the hallway skidding to a stop as the sound of glass shattering filled the corridor. 

A young wizard started to run out of the closet, the evidence of the wreckage clinging to his trainers sending a cacophony of smells into the air. Sweet mixed with pungent, sugar and earth together in a mind fogging combination. Hermione whipped out her replacement wand, hexing the boy and freezing him in place. Others were starting to stir at the noise, some patients were out of their beds, and the ones who were sleeping peered down from the landing. Hermione approached the boy, turning him around to look at his frozen, panicked face. He was vaguely familiar but she didn’t know his name. They had lost so many and were trying to up their numbers wherever they could. He was young, a child. Her stomach turned. 

“I’m going to free you but you are going to stay right where you are,” she said sternly before producing the counter spell. The boy’s body relaxed and his brown eyes went straight to the floor. “Now. What did you think you were doing?” 

The boy held out a hand, a single vial in his palm the liquid sloshing around his hand shook. Dreamless Sleep. 

“I.. I can’t sleep… I see them when I do,” he muttered. Hermione sighed. The onlookers leaned in trying to hear the conversation. For the first time in the five days of no sleep, she felt truly and utterly exhausted. 

“If you need something, just ask. Do you understand?” she asked. The boy nodded, still handing out the potion. “Keep that one for tonight, but I won’t have anymore until the end of the week. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Then he was gone. The others relaxed returning to their beds but muttering among themselves. If they find out which vial he took the kid was going to be hearing an earful. Hermione shook off the encounter and went to her closet to clean up.

A sob lodged itself in her throat. 

Everything, absolutely everything as destroyed. Every vial was broken, every stash torn apart. The floor was a puddle of goo, sparkling and sparking with each new reaction. All of her supplies, all of her potions gone. 

Hermione held on to the doorframe, trying to keep her wits together. She couldn’t cry, not now. The others would find out what was wrong, they’d panic. She took a deep breath trying to calm the wave of emotion threatening to drown her. 

“Hermione what’s-,” Ron turned the corner, Ginny at his elbow but the pair stopped at the sight of the ransacked potions closet. 

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

That’s when the dam broke. Her shoulders shudders and the tears flowed down her cheeks. She had the vague sense of a hand on her back. People were talking, trying to soothe her. Some were cleaning. She saw Alicia Spinnet out of bed and waved her back. She didn’t see the boy who did this, she tried to ask for his name. She never did get an answer.

“Don’t worry ‘Mione we’ll clean it up.”

“I’ve already started a new batch.”

“Please go to sleep, Hermione.” 

It was as if she blinked and time had moved forward a day. Everything was quiet again, save for the lingering sickly-sweet smell of spilled potions. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at a spider crawling up the opposite wall. 

_Don’t fall asleep, Granger._ She told herself, brown eyes already sliding closed. They’d been open for so long her eyes were stinging either from strain or dryness she wasn’t sure. She had an eyedrop potion, but it was broken with the rest. She could use her wand, but she didn’t trust this new one. 

No Wideye, no Dreamless Sleep. All she had left was a mug of coffee. Her hands were wrapped around the long cold cup, the liquid doing little for the massive undertaking she was asking of it. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” she muttered to herself. She blinked and it took double the time. Her head drooped towards the table. There was so much to do, but she wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore. Had it been minutes since she cried in the potions closet? Had it been weeks? “Don’t…” 

She blinked and the cold night of Grimmauld Place was replaced by the warm, comfort of the Gryffindor girl’s dormitory. Hermione sat on her bed, the curtains pulled to the side to let in light, with books and parchment spread out in front of her. She was still in her uniform, yet the window held only starlight. The room was empty, the beds made and the curtains hanging neatly as when they entered the very first day of school. If not for the little trinkets on the nightstands and the marked up trunks on the floor, Hermione would have thought no one else lived here. 

She looked down to her homework and tried to remember what exactly she should be working on. Was it potions? She didn’t remember having anything to write for Snape. Her mind was muddled. The pull of duty yanking at her chest, yet she was unsure of what that duty was. Perhaps she had it written in her notes. Hermione hopped off her bed, her socked feet silent against the floor as she made her way to her trunk. She threw it open, pulling out a notebook and flopping through the pages. Her mind was still spinning, unable to focus on anything specific. She knew there were words on the page, but she couldn’t for the life of her read them. 

Hermione frowned, throwing the book back in her trunk and shutting it. She stood, taking a moment to settle into the silence of the room and stretch out the tense muscles of her back. It was very rare that she had the dorm to herself and that the students downstairs in the common room weren’t loudly celebrating a Quidditch match or some other occasion. It felt odd and alien. She moved to the window beside her bed, leaning against the stone wall and looking out into the night. The night was as dark as ink and just as opaque. Usually she could see lights dotting the grounds and the glowing windows of rooms below, yet tonight everything was dipped in darkness. 

Movement in the glass grabbed her attention. Hermione stood up straight, looking at the distorted reflection. She saw a figure, but not one she recognized as the other girls that shared the room. She spun around and her entire body froze. 

Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the Gryffindor Girl’s Dorm room as if it was exactly where he ought to be. He was dressed in his Slytherin robes, his white hair was styled neatly like he kept it in their last year together at school. She blinked trying to banish the vision but there he was- standing in room he couldn’t possibly be in. Her heart skipped a beat. 

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Hermione bristled. 

“Of course, I’m here, I’m supposed to be. How are you in my dorm, Malfoy? Even if you figured out the password the stairs are enchanted,” Hermione snipped, her nerves making the words flow more freely than she cared for. Her eyes darted to her wand left on her blankets back to Draco. How did he even get in the dorm? Did that mean he had been here before? 

“I didn’t use the stairs,” he said. Hermione inched closer to her bed, her hands itching to get ahold of her wand. 

“However you got in- please leave,” Hermione stated, holding her ground. The world tilted around her, the warm reds of the room twisting and blurring before melting into cool greens and silvers. She paused, looking around to find a similar shaped room, with five beds but covered in Slytherin colors. Her homework and her wand were gone.

“There, I left,” he said with a small smirk. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded. The distinct smell of the dungeons lingered in the air.

“Come on, Granger. You know what this is,” he said, taking a step closer. Hermione looked at him, focusing on his silver eyes as he crept closer. 

Hogwarts… they were in Hogwarts but they couldn’t be. She had left to fight with Harry. She had… she’d been awake for so long because of those odd dreams… 

Dreams. Oh God she was in one again. 

“I fell asleep,” she gasped, looking around the Slytherin boy’s dorm she had certainly never set foot in. 

“Brightest witch of her age,” Malfoy said, waving his hands out as if presenting her. Hermione snatched his left wrist, shoving the sleeves of his robe up and revealing the dark mark set in his skin. She looked up to his face to find it aged. Like in her other dream his youth faded into the Malfoy from the shack. He had creases forming along his forehead, and his silver eyes had dulled over time. She could feel the dark magic tingle against her fingers where she touched him. 

The Malfoy that was a Death Eater. 

“Are you real?” she asked, still holding onto his arm. “Or are you part of my mind?” 

“Oh, that’s an interesting question,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Which would be more fun, me being real or Hermione Granger have insistent dreams about me?” 

Hermione shoved his arm back, her palms stinging from the contact. 

“You’re real then,” she remarked, taking him in again. His robes had melted into a black shirt and slacks. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, a grin pulling ever so slightly at the corner of his lips. He looked hungry and the gaze he set on her sent a shiver through Hermione’s entire body. 

“How can I avoid you if you’re in my dreams?” she said, trying to hold onto her composure. Her fingers picking at the sleeve of her school robes. 

“By not sleeping evidently,” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, but didn’t speak. She felt at a disadvantage in this dream state, surrounded by silver and verdant. 

“Were you afraid?” his voice lowered, almost a hush. She realized how close they were to one another, but her feet refused to move. Whether it was the dream or her own stubborn body, Hermione couldn’t tell. Her anxiety bubbled in her stomach, her ears burning beneath her curls as she met his gaze that was simply too excited to see her cornered. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Malfoy,” she said. She felt her robes move around her body and the familiar feeling of her jeans and cardigan grounded her. Her war uniform, the one she had to scour every night to remove all the blood and bile from. 

“I don’t think you are,” he said, his voice soft for a moment. They flickered down to her attire before returning to her eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re afraid of what you think of me.” 

Hermione’s mouth fell open. Her hand raising to jab a finger into his chest, her chest bubbling with emotions she was ready to lay into him but he continued without her protests. 

“I’ve seen it, Granger,” he said, his voice low. He leaned towards her and despite every part of her brain that told her to move away she stayed put. His warm breath grazed across her cheek. “I saw it in that mind of yours and I have to say, it was quite the fantasy.” 

Hermione’s cheeks burned. He smirked down at her and she felt her chest tighten as frustration built in her rib cage. 

“So why are you here then?” she snapped, looking straight into his grey eyes. He paused, brow furrowing. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t need the real you to dream about you, I can make up a much nicer Malfoy in my mind,” Hermione said, her anger cooling as her insult morphed into a curiosity. She moved away, moving between the trunks and beds as her thoughts kept rolling. “If you’re real, and I’m almost certain you are, that means you’re also asleep somewhere. We’re sharing a dream.

“I’m not an expert on dreams, but it seems odd that two people would suddenly start sharing a dream because one of them thought about the other. In that case everyone would be hopping in and out of everyone else’s dreams all the time,” Hermione paused, turning back to Malfoy who was standing still just watching her move around him. “But, it’s not just because of that. You entered my mind at the shack. Alone, reading someone’s thoughts would also not create this kind of bond. At least, it’s never been documented by a legilimens.” 

She finished her circle around the room coming to a stop in front of Malfoy once again. 

“I think you’re in my dreams because I’m in yours,” she said, her own satisfied grin on her lips. She was expecting a rebuttal. A long winded, rambling string of insults of her bloodline and her hair like he threw at her during school. 

“You are,” he said, his eyes soft. Hermione paused, thrown by his reaction more than her initial conclusion. 

Malfoy dreamed about her? Her mind wandered to the dream she had in the shack, the animalistic, rough fantasy that had both excited and worried her. Her fears and her guiltiest pleasures mixing into one scene. Did he think about her like that? 

Her mind felt shattered by the confession. She was working overtime trying to field the amount of questions growing in her mind. However, she didn’t get a chance to answer any of them. 

“I have to go,” Malfoy said, his eyes lingering on hers before vanishing from the room. The dormitory oozed into blackness, the dream dismantling around her bleeding onto her skin and soaking her clothes. 

She woke up, her cheek pressed against the wood of the kitchen table. Her coffee mug had tipped over during the night, the brown liquid soaking into her sleeves. 

“Hermione?” Ginny stood in the door to the hallway, her hair pulled back and an apron tied around her waist. She smelled like burned potions. “Are you alright?” 

Hermione blinked, still shell-shocked. 

“I’m not entirely certain.”


End file.
